It’s commendable that Glasvegas don’t shy away from contemporary issues. Rather, their bittersweet lyrics cut straight to the grim violence and destructive nature of humanity, discussing everything from social work to ice-cream vans with a dabble at death.
James Allan’s strong Glaswegian accent is reminiscent of Caleb Followill of Kings of Leon fame, with the same rock-stadium sound appeal. This is thrown together with an oxymoronic twist of the Shangri-Las. Like the Shangri-Las, Glasvegas use gentle melodies and repetition to emphasize their melancholic poeticism. The track ‘Daddy’s Gone’, for example, tackles the complex subject-matter of a father leaving home, and should, in truth, be downright depressing. Instead, the catchy riffs and repetitive meter create a well formed momentum which climaxes with a ’60s-style “wawayaoooo”.
The album bubbles over with references to childhood favourites (such as ‘Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘You are My Sunshine’), interlaced with the heavy subject-matters and accentuated by Allan’s strangely seductive intonations.
Hailed by everyone from the NME to the Guardian, Glasvegas are over-hyped. But their album is effective, if a bit generic.